


Mythology

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-01
Updated: 1999-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seaside resort, stolen moments of happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mythology

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the printed zine "Homosapien Sux."

(late autumn 1973)

In the end, running away was so easy, Brian was left wondering why they hadn't done it sooner. Thanks to Jerry's allowance -- which Brian never spent because he never had to buy things for himself -- they had money, and the cabbie seemed willing to drive them anywhere.

They ended up at the seaside, but Brian never remembered the trip there because he fell asleep and when he awoke, head on Curt's lap, Curt just smiled and said, "We're here."

It was off-season, cold and grey, but none of that mattered. They were alone. They were free.

Brian found them a room -- a suite, of course -- in the poshest hotel the sleepy town had to offer. It was a grand Victorian, redone in 1930s glamour, now a bit frayed and tatty. The suite had a patina of decadent nostalgia that appealed to Brian, and, as Curt pointed out, it had a huge, comfortable bed.

The first day of freedom was too heady. Brian felt like a schoolboy again-- except that as a schoolboy he'd never felt like this, had never had this wild, passionate animal/poet/friend to follow. They walked along the boardwalk, got caught in the rain, ran back to the hotel, collapsed in their suite, and made love. Laughing and touching and kissing in the language they'd invented for themselves -- a language no one else could understand.

Afterwards, Curt sprawled with his head on Brian's chest and dozed. Brian buried his fingers in Curt's hair, felt Curt's breath against his heart, and listened to the rain.

The bed reminded him of the one in New York, in the Plaza suite where they'd gone after tea. Jerry had been particularly transparent in leaving them alone, and Brian could imagine the knowing winks to the reporters. Let Jerry have his game. Brian didn't care. It gave him Curt.

Besides, he enjoyed the irony, because despite Jerry's artless plan, they hadn't made love in New York. It was still a courtship then, and they'd both wanted the sport. So they had drunk, and held each other, and kissed, and Brian had tasted the freedom he'd been hungering for since the first time he'd ever set eyes on Curt Wild.

His first taste, and here was the drug he could understand the allure of. He was already hooked by the time they finally did make love -- that strange, serene moment, by turns surprisingly gentle and surprisingly fierce. Curt awakened inside him the need to give and in return he was given so much, felt complete and renewed, and he knew nothing else would ever feel like this. There was no one else like Curt, and Curt was his.

The rain stopped. Curt stirred drowsily and kissed Brian's chest. Brian handed him a cigarette. With anyone else, the ensuing silence would have been oppressive and unbearable, but with Curt it felt natural and relaxed. Brian watched the sky changing colours, and Curt smoked. The time that passed didn't seem to matter, and after a while Brian curled against Curt and fell asleep.

A sound woke him up and he opened his eyes to late afternoon greyness. He was alone in the bed, and the rain had started again. Curt sat down at the foot of the bed and dumped the contents of a paper bag onto the bedcovers. Brian stretched lazily and sat back, watching him with amused curiosity.

"I found one of those shops where you can buy anything," Curt said, fumbling with a small, unidentifiable bottle. "It and a pub are the only places open. I think we're the only people here."

"Good," Brian said, stretching again and sinking lower in the bed. He wondered if Jerry would try to find them. It depended on Mandy's mood. If she were feeling generous, she'd handle Jerry. Brian decided that Mandy would be generous.

Curt shifted and spread out over the bed. He had opened the bottle and taken hold of Brian's left foot. Brian watched him intently. Very carefully, Curt began painting Brian's toenails with blue nail lacquer. Brian laughed and kept still for him.

Curt sat up and smiled at the result. "Ooo, very pretty."

Brian wiggled his toes, impatient for the lacquer to dry. "Maxwell's favourite colour, too. What else did you bring me?"

Curt combed through the small pile of boxes and bottles and newspaper. "A bunch of shit, actually," he laughed. "I just grabbed whatever looked good."

Brian gave him a seductive smile and Curt recognised the implicit joke and grabbed at him. Brian squirmed.

"Careful. My toes are still wet."

Curt caressed Brian's thighs and slid between them, kissing gently.

"Then I'll make sure you keep your feet up," he murmured against Brian's balls.

Already feeling the warm current of arousal, Brian arched slightly and sighed. "Ah."

\---

It was the middle of the night and Brian was starving. Curt was bundled up in the bedcovers and there was no point in waking him. For mysterious reasons, which Brian assumed were related to the addiction or the withdrawal, Curt never ate. Since they'd met, his diet had seemingly consisted entirely of alcohol, nicotine, and semen, and Brian had, on occasion, teased him about it.

Brian quietly got out of bed and dressed in the white trousers and green shirt he'd brought. He glanced down at his painted toenails and smiled and decided to go barefoot. It was very late, but if he could find someone on staff, he was sure he could get a meal made for him. He knew how to charm people into doing things for him.

No one was at the front desk, but there was a light on in the office beyond. Brian wandered in and found a man asleep at a writing table. He was just about to wake the man when a woman's voice whispered, "Here, what do you think you're doing?"

Brian turned and saw a short, stout, older woman with a fag dangling from her lips. "I'm hungry," he stated simply, then smiled at her look of disgust.

She started walking away, shaking her head. "You're hungry. Too bleedin' bad."

"I haven't had anything all day," he said. "I'm very sorry, but I thought that since there are so few guests... I'll pay for the meal, of course."

The woman stopped, removed her cigarette, and gave him a hard stare. "All right. I'll see what I can find."

He followed her to the kitchen and sat on a stool while she hunted through cabinets and lit the stove.

"You're Brian Slade, aren't you?"

His vanity was gratified at being recognised, but he was annoyed nevertheless. Just this once, he didn't want to be in the limelight.

Before he could answer, she nodded and said, "I thought so. My youngest, she has your pictures all over her walls. She was saving up to see your show in Bristol, but it's sold out." She gave him a sharp look as if this were entirely his fault.

"Why don't you give me her name, and I'll get her some tickets," he suggested politely.

She paused, then beamed at him, and he knew he had her. It was so easy, getting people to like you. He was suddenly anxious to go back upstairs, to be alone with Curt. Sometimes he thought that for every person whose affection he won, a tiny piece of himself was being taken away. With Curt, it was never like that. Curt gave him back himself.

The woman prattled on and fixed him a decent meal, smiling and joking with him. Her matronly manner reminded him more of Cecil than of his own mum, or Mandy, and he giggled at the thought. When he thanked her and started to leave, she gave him a slip of paper with her daughter's name and address on it, and he smilingly tucked it into his pocket, thinking he could have Jerry take care of it later.

Curt was awake when Brian returned to the suite. He looked cross and said between drags on his cigarette, "Where were you?"

Brian pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. "I was hungry. I found someone to cook for me. I was just thinking I should write a lyric for her: 'the old woman who fed me.'" He smiled and played with the words in his mind.

Curt sucked the cig down to the filter and stubbed it out. "Sounds like some hippie fucking shit to me."

Curt's bad mood was probably a good sign. It meant Brian had been missed. If anything, it lifted Brian's spirits higher.

He stripped off his trousers and lifted up the bedcovers. "You can't stay angry at me. We're here all alone, and it would be such a waste."

He slid under the covers at the foot of the bed and crawled along Curt's legs, stopping to kiss and bite at random intervals. "Mmm, this gives me an idea for the album."

Curt lifted the covers and peered down at him. "What?"

Brian slithered up to meet him, and tangled Curt in his embrace. "A lizard boy and a wolf boy fall in love and live in a cave. What do you think?"

Curt laughed, and Brian smiled at him, although he was serious about his idea.

"I think," Curt said, then gave him a long, deep kiss. "I think you're too warm-blooded to be a lizard."

\---

Brian woke up in the cold morning, feeling tired and vulnerable. Curt traced the curves of his lips and whispered, "Pretty one." Brian tasted the warmth and saltiness of Curt's fingertips.

He pulled Curt into his arms, in that moment needing him more than anything else. Curt gave him life, and it was real and good and he never wanted to stop feeling this way. When Curt held him, Brian was strong. When Curt kissed him, Brian wanted to be devoured. At times they were opposites; other times they were so completely attuned to one another that outward communication seemed redundant.

They fucked all morning.

\---

The sun came out in the afternoon so they went to the beach and walked over the pebbly sand. Curt sat on a rock and buried his fag ends in the sand, sticking them straight up in a row. They looked like tiny men in a firing squad.

"This is a lousy beach. Do people actually swim here?"

Brian knelt down beside the miniature firing squad and watched the waves. "I imagine so, in summer." He looked up at Curt, feeling a bit anxious. "Do you want to go somewhere else?"

Curt just gazed at him for a long moment. The look in his eyes said so much, and Brian concentrated to understand it all, but felt like there were hidden meanings he'd missed. Finally, Curt said, "No," and smiled.

He reached over and touched Brian's cheek. "I'll make you a crown of seaweed and shells, and the rocks can be your castle."

When Curt talked like that, Brian always felt a rush, as if the world were shifting and gravity was about to admit defeat. He imagined them falling and flying together, into space. Returning to Maxwell's planet, he thought.

"And these?" He touched the row of fag ends. "They're my palace guards?"

"To defend you to the death."

Brian sat back and leaned against Curt. "Well, then, we should stay here."

Curt slid his arm across Brian's shoulders. They sat quietly while the wind and the sound of the waves and the salty sea air swept around them. Brian started composing lyrics in his mind -- the story of the lizard boy and the wolf boy. Their cave would be next to the sea.

Later, back at the hotel, Brian took a hot bath and felt pleasantly drowsy and peaceful. Curt came in, carrying a full bottle of scotch, and sat on the ledge of the bathtub.

"I think I met your friend," he said, opening the bottle and handing it to Brian. Brian took a drink and handed it back.

"What friend?"

"The old woman who fed you last night."

Brian thought back and remembered her, and with the memory felt a little hungry. "Oh. Where did you see her?"

Curt lifted the bottle. "When I went to get this." He took a drink. "Nice lady. I told her you were resting up for the tour, so she wouldn't blab to the whole world that we're here. She said she'd 'keep mum'."

"Good. I'm glad you thought of it," Brian said, sinking lower in the water and closing his eyes.

"Hey, are you through yet?"

Brian yawned and opened his eyes while Curt held up a towel for him. Pleased to be wrapped by Curt, Brian found himself ushered back into the bedroom, where the table had been set up with a full meal for one. Still draped in the towel, Brian sat, surprised and touched and disturbed by Curt's gesture. Curt wasn't like the others, and Brian didn't want him to become like them: always doing things for him whether he asked them to or not.

Curt sat opposite and watched him. He poured scotch into the wine glass and offered that to Brian, while he drank from the bottle. It occurred to Brian that Curt's motive might have been to keep Brian from wandering off again, and he liked believing that, so he relaxed and started eating.

"You're sure you don't want any?" Brian asked teasingly.

Curt shook his head. "I like watching you eat."

There was a mischievous gleam in Curt's eyes which Brian met, and returned, adding his own carnal flair. He held up the fork and licked it with slow, deliberate swipes.

"Anything in particular you like to watch me eat?"

Curt's intense gaze made the blood rush straight to Brian's cock. Curt didn't answer, because a reply was unnecessary. He stood up and stripped and sat down on the bed and Brian followed, kneeling between his legs and letting the towel fall. He teased and licked and took Curt into his mouth, and felt how their bodies resonated with the same heartbeat rhythm. He consumed Curt, the way he was continually consumed by Curt -- life taken in and given back in a sustaining cycle.

\---

In the blackness of night, they lay in bed together, comfortably entwined. Brian brushed his fingers over Curt's warm, smooth skin until he touched a nipple. He teased it gently, and Curt caressed Brian's spine.

"Do you think they're looking for us?" Curt asked.

"No," Brian said. "Jerry probably wants to, but Mandy will understand."

"Yeah." Curt didn't so certain.

Brian had never asked Curt his opinion of Mandy. He never sensed that Curt was jealous, but when he mentioned her, Curt seemed distant. His relationship with Mandy kept evolving, anyway. He knew she was unhappy with him now, and he knew she resented Curt, but he didn't know what to do about any of it.

He realised he didn't want them to be close. He liked having Curt to himself, and he liked keeping Mandy part of another facet of himself, one more linked to the past than the present.

He kissed Curt's throat and whispered, "Don't worry about it."

"I'm not," Curt said quietly. His hand slid lower, rubbing the small of Brian's back.

Brian sighed. "When we get back, though, they'll all be cross. They'll blame you." He stretched lithely.

Curt lightly scratched Brian's shoulder blades. "Just tell them to go to hell. They already own as much of your life as they can. You're entitled to what's left."

"Maxwell's life," Brian corrected.

"No. Yours." Curt shifted but still held him close. "Listen, it's not like I don't appreciate what Jerry's done for me... giving me the contract... but he treats you like a kid. He acts like he's had all the great ideas but that's bullshit because they're _your_ ideas. Fuck, you're one of the most creative people ever. You can do anything you want to. You don't need him, any of them."

Brian let his words sink in slowly. He'd thought about these things before, but he didn't have the same convictions Curt had. He'd spent a long time reaching this point, and the thought of turning away from it was too frightening.

"Jerry made me a star," he said at last.

Curt gave a gruff half-laugh. "Yeah. Look, all I'm saying is you don't need him, and you don't need all that shit. You're a star anyway, just being _you_, not Maxwell-fucking-Demon."

Brian started to pull away. What Curt was saying was too disturbing for Brian to hear. He remembered the humiliation of being unknown, and he never wanted to experience that again.

Curt's hold on him tightened when Brian tried to move. "Brian..." he whispered.

Brian relaxed against him, curling closer. "You don't understand--"

"Shhh. Forget it. You have what you want, and that's cool." Curt gently stroked his hair.

"Yes," Brian said, kissing Curt's chest. "I have what I want."

\---

Brian sat before the mirror and painted his lips a rosy pink. Then he brushed navy blue shadow over his eyelids. He could see Curt in the reflection, sitting in bed and watching him. Brian got up, bringing the make-up with him, and climbed onto the bed. He straddled Curt's lap and hunted through the bag.

Curt laughed and closed his eyes obligingly. Brian selected a dark purple shade and applied it to Curt's eyelids with slow, careful strokes. But when Curt opened his eyes, the effect was more like bruising than glamour.

"No," Brian sighed. "That won't do."

He looked through the bag again, pulling out a long, silk scarf, which Curt took and wrapped around his neck. In the jumble of paints and powders and lipsticks, Brian spotted the brooch. He touched it without picking it up, and thought he felt a current of its power.

"Hey," Curt said, taking the scarf off and sliding it around Brian's neck. "Don't I get any lipstick?"

Brian laughed softly and gave him a deep, savouring kiss, smearing Curt's lips with lipstick. Curt brought him into a close embrace.

"What else do you have in there?"

Brian held up a bottle of hair dye. "This."

Curt gave him a mischievous smile. "Yeah, let's do it."

\---

Brian stared at the reflection in the mirror and saw the vivid colors of his eyes and lips and skin against the stark white of his bleached hair. Curt moved behind him, bottle of dye in his hand.

"Maybe I should keep it this way," Brian suggested, tilting his head to one side. "That way, we'd match." He smiled at Curt's reflection.

Curt grinned and opened the bottle. "Too late." He started applying the dye before Brian could change his mind.

\---

His hair was Maxwell blue; his skin was alien pale. Brian stared at himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes and imagined a corridor stretching into space. One step and he could walk away, could spacewalk to freedom. He could imagine the weightless drifting and the glitter curtain of stars all around him.

Something held him back. When he looked away from the corridor, he saw Curt, still standing on the beach, waiting. Brian reached for him, but Curt seemed to move further away. Brian stepped into the vacuum of space and was all alone.

Brian woke himself from his dream and sat up. Curt wasn't in bed. Groggy, Brian got up and searched the suite. He got dressed and went downstairs. It was later in the morning than he'd thought and he passed the maid and front desk clerk in the lobby. They gaped at his hair but he was too anxious to find Curt to feel any vain satisfaction.

Curt was sitting on the beach. The wind whipped around him, blowing his bleached hair into a strange, changing, billowing cloud that reminded Brian of feathers falling. He sat down next to Curt and said nothing.

He thought back, trying to pinpoint what was wrong -- why Curt had left him alone -- but the memory of his dream still clung to him, distorting his impressions. Curt seemed unreachable. Brian clutched himself, trying to block the chill.

"Hey," Curt said, wrapping his arms around Brian. "You're freezing. Let's go back in."

Brian shook his head. Curt held him closer, and everything returned to the way it had been. Curt kept him warm, and, it seemed to Brian, kept him alive. He let go of the last, disturbing threads of his dream and simply felt free.

\---

Later, drunk, high on each other, they ran down the beach until they were breathless, and Brian gave Curt the brooch, pinning it on Curt's blouse. Curt looked down at it and touched the green gem.

"It's beautiful."

Brian smiled. "It belonged to Oscar Wilde."

Curt grinned and stroked the gold setting. "Really?"

Brian touched Curt's fingers and said quietly, "A man's life is his image."

Curt looked up at him, with an expression Brian couldn't quite name: a mixture of affection and wonder. Then Curt embraced him. They stood there for a long, long time, alone on the shore, warmed by one another.

The brooch was a mysterious bond between them now, Brian thought. Its history, whether true or not, had claimed them. Giving it to Curt had been the easiest thing in the world. In an inexplicable way, Brian felt like it belonged to Curt already. The power it held was like Curt's power: a rare and subtle force that enchanted Brian once he'd seen it.

"Let's go inside," he said.

\---

Curt tasted of alcohol, cigarettes, and more exotic flavours of the earth and heavens. Kissing him, Brian felt submerged in a temptestuous, untamable sea, then lifted into space, where new stars were born of fire and chaos. They made love slowly, to still time, with the gentleness of new lovers and the mad passion of beasts.

Resting afterwards, Brian watched Curt sleep, curled in sheets, most of his face hidden under a splay of yellow-white hair. Brian could finally name the force that had captured him: he was understood. Curt understood him, on a basic, intrinsic, unquestioning level. No one, not even Mandy, had ever given him that. He felt infinitely grateful and incredibly frightened. To be understood was to be known, and for so long, he had fashioned for himself a veil of unknowing: secrecy, and mystery, and distance. The truth was, when the veil was lifted, Brian was no longer sure what was underneath.

He reached for Curt and almost woke him up, wanting to ask him, "What is it you see?" But then he felt foolish, and let his hand rest softly on Curt's shoulder. Brian knew who he was, and he had what he wanted. And what he'd told Curt was true. "A man's life is his image." Brian believed it with all his heart.

\---

Time passed slowly enough to savour each moment in a reckless celebration of freedom and passion and love, but then the days ran out and they had to go back. Brian called Jerry, who hid his displeasure and impatience under expressions of concerned relief, and Jerry sent a car.

It rained that day, and although Brian felt a quiet sadness over the loss of their time alone, he knew this was really just the beginning of what could be. Together, he and Curt could turn ideas into art, and what they shared with each other could reshape the world. Brian believed this. He was already planning the album, and had nearly finished composing the central song about the wolf boy and the lizard boy. Everything in his world was poised on a new beginning.

"We should break a lamp or something," Curt said, looking around the suite. "In years to come, this will be known as the room where Curt Wild and Brian Slade shacked up, and I think we should add something to the mythology, don't you?"

Brian smiled and came up behind him, sliding his arms around Curt's waist. "I think the mythology has already begun. On the other hand, that's a hideously ugly lamp."

Curt laughed. It was intoxicating to hear and to feel. Brian felt genuine happiness and kissed the back of Curt's neck.

"Goodbye, lamp," Curt said, picking it up and throwing it against the floor. The lamp shattered. Brian watched, and laughed, and hugged Curt again.

There was a knock on the door, which startled them both, but it was just the porter to tell them the car had arrived. Curt was wearing everything he'd brought with him, so he went ahead while Brian gathered his make-up.

As he reached the door, Brian felt something in his trouser pocket and pulled it out. It was a slip of paper, with a girl's name and address written neatly in block capitals on it. He stared at the paper, its significance and meaning completely forgotten. Without further thought, he crumpled the paper and tossed it away, into the wreckage of the lamp, and hurried to catch up with Curt.

(the end)


End file.
